


sleight of hand

by newisalwaysbetter



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Capable Lucy, Captured Lucy, F/M, Interrogation, Lucy chained up, Mildly Dubious Consent, Nonverbal Consent, Set s2+, kissing as distraction, simulated noncon kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:15:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24578155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newisalwaysbetter/pseuds/newisalwaysbetter
Summary: He can pose as Rittenhouse to get in to rescue her. And, with her consent, he can do more.(Prompt: Flynn kissing Lucy before rescuing her from being tied up.)
Relationships: Garcia Flynn/Lucy Preston
Comments: 2
Kudos: 53





	sleight of hand

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "I have a thing for Lucy being chained up (or tied or whatevs, pick a restraint) and being saved by Flynn, but he kisses her first while she's still in bondage against the wall (or whatevs, it could be a door)."
> 
> Warning for mentions of canonical death, bad language, and simulated noncon kissing, I guess? Verbal consent is given, but it appears noncon to observers. Somewhat gross language too. Arguably dubious consent because Lucy is under duress. Proceed with caution, y’all, and enjoy!

By the time the interrogation ends, Lucy is sagging from her chains, her eyes wet. It hadn’t been the first time she’d ever been interrogated, but it had been the worst by far. With her hands chained tight above her head, and her ankles cuffed to cinderblocks on the floor of her cell, there’s nowhere to go. The inquisitors had circled her like hawks, prodding her with questions, while she had hung there helplessly. _No. No. I won’t tell you anything. No._

This room is too small. Lucy twists, making the chains on her cuffs jingle, and winces when the welts on her wrists sting.

The chains are still ringing when she goes still, because the door is swinging open again.

 _No._ Lucy sags in her bonds as a black-clad Rittenhouse grunt appears in the doorway. It’s the only word she has left. She can’t take any more. _No, no, no…_

Then she hears a familiar voice. “This is the prisoner?”

Lucy’s heart stops.

Blinking through her tears, she lifts her head a fraction, and there–in a black suit creased sharply as a knife, looking like an angel out of hell, is _Flynn_.

The grunt answers in the affirmative. “We got rid of the rest of the Prestons, but the other’s still sticking around. She’s a real pain.”

It’s almost a good thing that every inch of her wants to curl up into a ball and scream, because she can’t even muster the effort to show her relief. Best-case, tonight, she’ll end up slung over Flynn’s shoulder, panicked and teary and useless, and Flynn will be clenched-teeth and silent because of how it aches him to feign loyalty to these monsters.

She channels her frustration into furious struggling as the door locks behind Flynn and his guard. It’s hell for Flynn, they all know it, but he’s done it anyway. For her. Because she can’t–get–free.

“Get away from me,” she says simply, bitterly. Exhaustion leaks into it. Flynn won’t listen, of course, but being able to say it gives her a little comfort. The guilt feels like drowning. “Just leave.”

“You want her gagged, sir?”

This time it’s panic that makes her twist in her bonds. Lucy’s been gagged before, and the choking silence feels too much like death, like being trapped. “Don’t,” she hisses, and her stomach drops at how weak it sounds.

It’s shameful, how much she wants to give in.

Flynn meets her eyes dispassionately. If he sees the real fear flashing there, it doesn’t show. She feels cold.

After a moment, that laserlike gaze moves away. “Why would I want that?” Flynn drawls in disdain. “She can hardly share anything with her mouth full.”

“That one’s already been interrogated, sir. We sent our best.”

“And?”

“No dice, sir.”

Flynn hums, and begins to approach. Each steel-toed footstep strikes heavily on the concrete. “Maybe you’re not working hard enough to persuade her.”

He’s a heartbeat away, now. Lucy feels her heart thundering against its own accord. It’s not Flynn’s fault that he’s too good an actor, but–in that suit, in that look, he seems to have walked straight out of her nightmares.

“You know that I’ll never tell you anything.” Lucy forces her voice down from its fearful octave. “And you know that my friends are coming to get me.”

“I don’t doubt that.” Flynn halts a hairsbreadth away. Lucy has to crane her neck to look up at him. “What a shame you won’t be here when they arrive, hmmm?”

“Whatever you’re up to, just get on with it.”

Flynn laughs–in that bright, mirthless way she remembers from the old days. She can see all his teeth, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

Those big, lethal hands withdraw slowly from his pockets, and Lucy shudders. “Oh, I’m not going to hurt you. I just wanted to make you aware of your position.”

“Which is?”

He braces one forearm on the wall above her head, looming over her. Lucy can smell his sharp aftershave. “Vulnerable,” he breathes. His intention hovers in the air.

But he’s waiting for her, Lucy realizes suddenly.

She wants to melt. She wants to cry. She wants to sink into his arms.

There might only a few seconds to choose, but if she decides against, Flynn will find another way. She has a choice, she knows, from the way he’s risking both of their lives by waiting. She _always_ has a choice, with him.

The grunt is watching, so Lucy doesn’t smile as she tilts her chin up, eyes darting furiously between Flynn’s eyes and his lips, and pushes the words out through her teeth. “Please. Do it, Flynn, I trust you–”

“Remember to fight,” he whispers, and then his mouth is on her.

Flynn is nothing if not gentle for his size, and cups her chin in a way that’s almost tender, so for a moment the touch is so comforting that she forgets.

He puts the barest pressure on her mouth, and Lucy springs into high gear.

She’s not such a good actor, but this isn’t so hard to fake. With the last of her strength, she twists viciously, as though trying to buck him off. Flynn makes a show of restraining her with his spare hand. Lucy feels him pin one of her bound wrists to the wall, and when he slips something into her hand, she closes her fist and holds tight.

The second it’s done, she nips his mouth, and he withdraws.

“Wait for the commotion,” he breathes against her lips.

“I always do.”

“There,” Flynn says, loud, cold, as he draws back. He keeps one hand holding her chin, and Lucy bares her teeth and thrashes in his grip. “You understand better now.”

“You son of a _bitch,_ you–” She’s too exhausted to find the words, but she can do a decent imitation of being speechless with anger. It’s easy, with the guard smirking at her.

“You go anywhere,” Flynn tosses over his shoulder as he leaves, “and I’ll come find you.”

“I get it,” she spits, dismissively. “You can leave.”

He watches her for a moment too long. “Yes, Lucy.”

Then the solid door clicks shut, leaving her alone in the cell. But it no longer seems quite so small, and there’s a lockpick nestled securely in her hands, and the blood is singing in her veins. It’s dark and warm, this thing between them, beckoning and uncertain and refreshing as night air.

With one kiss, he’s revived her.

_I’m coming for you, Garcia Flynn._


End file.
